


Something

by Juliette1713



Category: Northern Exposure
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-10-20 23:38:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20683841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juliette1713/pseuds/Juliette1713
Summary: Set early season 2, in prime Maggie/Joel bickering mode, per a comment suggestion :)





	Something

"You are an arrogant, disagreeable, insufferable, conceited, hypocritical, self-centered, ungracious, judgmental, short-sighted, unfeeling, inglorious, ignominious, wretched, insolent, miserable creep, you know that?"

The list got longer with every fight they had, he'd noticed. And she rarely reused insults. He pictured her, lying in bed late at night while that dim-witted, overflexed boyfriend of hers snored next to her, paging determinedly through a dogeared copy of Roget's Thesaurus, frantically jotting down spiteful adjectives to throw at Joel later. Hey, what she chose to do in her leisure time was her business, and as long as it didn't involve him directly, he was thrilled. That said, he had the better vocabulary, as between them, and he wasn't about to have her believe he was impressed for even a split second.

"Ooh, hit me where it hurts, O'Connell. I care so deeply about your opinion of me." They met each other step for step - stomp for stomp, really - as they walked together along Main Street, dodging and weaving past other walkers so they could stay at each other's elbows - and at each other's throats.

"_My_ opinion? Ask anyone on this sidewalk - hell, ask anyone in town. Ask anyone you've ever met in your entire life, and they'll tell you the same thing!" She was gesturing wildly with both hands, her reach five times what her tiny size would seem to allow her. "Probably worse, actually, because I'm too nice a person to say what I really think of you."

"Too nice a person?" He stopped abruptly in front of Ruth Anne's store, looking amused. "You? Nice?"

"That's right." She stopped fast, turning to face him, as she put both hands to her hips and jutted her chin out at him.

"Two things, O'Connell," he held up two fingers between them to punctuate his list. "One, everything you just said and more can be applied to you. Except if we're describing you, we'd be remiss if we didn't also add vindictive and manipulative and psychotic and dictatorial and overbearing and puerile and unfeeling and...and...." Shit, not again. This happened just about every time they got into it. Sometimes he could get himself back on the right track quickly enough that she didn't notice. Today didn't feel like one of those days. "...and..." 

"And?" She had that grin on her face - the one he couldn't stand. The one that said _I win_ \- the one she'd get any time his confidence wavered, if even for a moment. The one that threw him off because it made her eyes sparkle and made him start feeling...that _something_. "And what, Fleischman?"

_And hot_, his mind suddenly and unaccountably supplied. _Mesmerizing, gorgeous, seductive, captivating, sexy_... Where the hell had that all come from? It was that...that damn _something_, short-ciruiting his brain! Her smug smile spread to her arching eyebrow when he finally decided, since all else was failing him, why not take refuge in hyperbole.

"...and...and...and, well, just about the worst, most unpleasant person I've ever met in my entire life. Of all the things I hate about Alaska - and God knows there are many - you are so far atop that list you couldn't see yourself even if you got flew up 10,000 feet in that rickety little deathtrap you call a plane to look."

"And?"

"And what? I just finished my 'and'."

"And what was the other thing?"

"What other thing?"

"Just now, at the start of your little diatribe you said, 'Two things, O'Connell'," her voice mocking his as she grabbed the two fingers he was still holding up. She brought them to his face and before lowering them down to chest level without letting go of his hand, "so what was the other one?"

Damn. He had no idea now, where he'd been headed 30 seconds ago when he'd said any of that. God, she was infuriating. He'd never been so easily rattled in arguments until he'd met her. He'd been a champion debater - state finalist two years running. Logic and reason were solely his domain and no one he knew could ever match him there. Hell, even his parents had pretty well given up trying to best him at arguing when he was 10 years old. Maggie, though... Whatever this was that crackled between them wasn't based on logic, and he was absolutely lost in navigating it. And her. And now she was touching him. Which made things much, much worse.

"Well?" She knew now that she'd thrown him off his argument and that he'd completely forgotten. She was smiling - smirking, really - at him now, something that should have pissed him off - and did on some level. But. There was definitely something else, too. Not anger, not frustration, but that....that _something_ he still couldn't quite find the word for. That same something he'd never felt before he met Maggie O'Connell, but that he couldn't make himself not feel, especially when they really got into it together like this. That something that got so far under his skin so quickly that he couldn't make himself make sense sometimes. That same something that made him crave these arguments with her, seek them out, childishly poke and prod at her weak points until she finally indulged him in a fight. That _something_ that flooded his system with adrenaline and dopamine and...and another hormonal intoxicant he was trying hard to ignore at the moment.

The look on her face changed yet again - still smirking but now with a hint of...that same _something_ he was feeling. He saw it - it danced in her green eyes, amongst those tiny little flecks of blue that he'd find himself mentally tripping over sometimes. He forced himself to look down, trying to break the spell her eyes were casting, his gaze landing at the collar of her oversized sweater. The one that had been jostled by all of her angry gesticulating and was now exposing her neck and part of shoulder.

All of a sudden, he pictured himself leaning in and pressing his lips to her there. He could sense everything so clearly - the surprised little noise she'd make when he first made contact. That faint hint of perfume that he sometimes noticed on her, only finally enveloping him so fully he could really smell it - and smell her. The feeling of her skin under his lips. The soft silk of her hair as he gathered it gently into his palm and fingers and used it to tilt her chin higher, exposing more of her neck for exploration. He pictured himself kissing his way down to her collarbone and then across to the center of her throat as that long expanse of pale, soft skin would turn pink in the wake of his chin stubble and lips and tongue. Her hands would be in his hair, urging him along, her mouth would be against his ear and he'd hear each ragged breath punctuated intermittently with quiet, happy little mewling noises as he moved. 

He shook his head hard to bring himself back into the present. It hadn't ever been this bad before, the effect of that..._something_. This argument wasn't going his way at all, and he needed to retake control. He steeled himself and pulled his gaze back up to her eyes. It was risky - he knew his own eyes would give him away, reflecting that same _something_ back at her right now - a something he'd do well to disavow, and quickly. Nothing worked better, he knew, to deflect a feeling you shouldn't be having than to accuse the other person of having it.

"*And*, I was going to say, the only reason you're saying any of what you're saying right now is because you're uncomfortable around me."

"Oh really? And why would you think that?"

Despite her sarcasm, he knew it had worked. He'd knocked the smirk off her face and smug twinkle from her eyes. She now looked rattled and thrown off, so he acted quickly to secure the upper hand. He drew their hands, her fingers still wrapped around his, down beside them and took a half step closer to her.

"Because, as always, you're obviously attracted to me, and you only do this petulant arguing thing you do in a wholly misguided attempt to misdirect my attention away from it. It couldn't be more obvious, O'Connell. And don't think I don't see it." He took another half step in, daring her to back down by backing up again. "This anger you have towards me? It's not anger." He was stroking the inside of her wrist with his thumb as he talked.

"Like hell it's not," she said, ripping her hand from his and taking the step back he knew his nearer proximity would prompt her to. She backed up against the glass window pane behind her. He took another half-step forward again, regaining the space she'd tried to make him lose, knowing she couldn't make him lose it a second time. Her eyes widened almost imperceptibly, and he saw them flicker down to his lips, lingering there as she added, "I really can't stand you, you know that?"

\-----

Truth be told, she knew she'd lost the argument when she'd said that, and she was afraid he knew it, too. His lip started to curl on one side into that self-satisfied grin of his. The one that exposed his dimple. From there, his smile extended to his eyes, which were now saturated with that...look. That smug, arrogant, self-satisfied - and yet somehow amatory - look. The one that made that feeling of _something_ shoot straight through her like lightning. That feeling she'd never encountered before meeting Joel. The one that felt a lot like anger but then again not at all. The one that made her feel both guilty and giddy whenever she felt it coursing through her. Like now.

"Whatever you say, O'Connell. Fact of the matter is, you want me and you can't have me. So you pretend you hate me as cover." His eyes sparkled, his face and body distressingly close to hers. She still couldn't look back at his eyes and sought refuge in his irritating smirk instead. "Classic deflectionary behavior."

She'd completely forgotten what they were doing minutes ago. Arguing, yes, that much was clear, but she couldn't swear in a court of law as to the source of their disagreement at this point. It had, as all their arguments did, quickly devolved into personal attacks, entirely unrelated to whatever had set things in motion in the first place. Accusations that hit far too close to their marks for comfort. She thought she'd had him for a moment, too. He'd obviously lost his train of thought and was staring at her with that look in his eyes. So how had things turned so quickly, then, with her now backed up against a building trying desperately to reassemble her thoughts, her eyes fixed on that lower lip of his?

_Because you were hoping this might happen - it's why you picked this fight in the first place_, the honest, if completely disloyal, part of her brain supplied. It was the truth. She craved these interactions with him and looked for every possible opportunity to start one. _And because, what you really want, deep down, is for him to take that last step closer to you, push you up against this building, and put those lips on yours_.

She'd known since the day they'd met that she had a weakness for his eyes, but his mouth was fast becoming unsafe mental territory, too. His infuriatingly cute grin and dimple were fading, thank God, but that lower lip of his... Quite without wanting to, she found herself imagining now what he'd do if she startled him by leaning forward and capturing that lip with both of hers, kissing him, pulling him close with her arms wrapped around his shoulders. He had to be a great kisser, she had no question of that. He was passionate and intense and threw himself wholeheartedly into everything he did and forced himself to do it perfectly. This would be no different.

She could almost feel his lips against hers, one palm pressed against the glass beside her, pinning her in. The other would be in her hair, pulling her closer to him. He'd press against her, his body flush against hers, her back against that window. They'd get lost in what they were doing, oblivious to the fact everyone in town could see them. She made a mental note to make sure if anything ever happened between them not to let it happen in public. There'd be no stopping it. This _something_ between them fiercely resisted logic, decorum, propriety, reasonableness. And deep down, she knew it wasn't a matter of if, but _when_...

She took a steadying breath and tore her eyes away from his mouth to look him in the eye again, immediately sorry she did. He knew. She could see it in his eyes. He knew what she'd been thinking, what she was feeling. And he felt it, too. She wasn't sure which was scarier. All hint of teasing was gone, but that sparkle, that _something_; was still there. It wasn't smug, it wasn't feigned, and it wasn't particularly well-hidden. She had to get this argument back into its natural place. It may not have been a case of 'if' but 'when', but 'when' sure as hell wasn't going to be right now, if she could help it.

"In your _dreams_, Fleischman," she said, mustering as much disgust as she could. The tone of her voice had come far short of the anger her words had been trying to convey, so she tried a cheap shot instead. "Look, I'm sorry you got dumped by likely the only woman on earth willing to go to bed with you, and I'm sorry as a consequence of that that you'll spend the rest of your contracted-for time here angry and frankly overamorous, lacking an outlet for either feeling, but none of that is my problem. So projecting your sexual needfulness onto me as a pathetic way to find someone with whom to commiserate is a waste of both of our time."

His dimple reappeared. She still hadn't said any of that with enough behind it to sound convincingly disinterested, and he'd obviously seen right through all of it. "So you're saying arguing is simply a manifestation of sexual frustration?"

"Obviously. And you have it in spades. Hence your cantankerous belligerence."

"Doesn't it take two to tango, O'Connell?"

"What?"

"Well, you're toe-to-toe with me on this one - both figuratively and literally. Trying - but failing, of course - to give as good as you get. Should I assume, and forgive the indelicate implication, that you're motivated by the same thing you accuse me of?" His grin became a smirk. "You and Rick not _arguing_ enough at home these days or something?"

She opened her mouth to tell him off as he quickly appended it with, "Or is he just not as good at it as I am?"

\-----

That had been unwise, to put it mildly. Whatever it was she was feeling now, it was strong. Her cheeks were pink, eyes stormy and locked on his, and he could feel her taking short, quick little breaths, her chest against his. He should have been terrified - Maggie was 10 times stronger than she looked and, he was pretty sure, not remotely above acts of physical violence. She could easily break his nose if she wanted to. Or hit him where it would hurt even more, quite a bit lower than that. He wasn't afraid of her hitting him right now, though. He was terrified that he was right with his accusation - that what she was feeling was anything but anger. That it was the same impulse he felt hurtling through his body. And that, unlike him, she looked like she might be brave enough do something about it. And if she did, he wasn't sure that his self-control and resolve wouldn't quickly lose out to that _something_ that had been whispering - and was screaming now - inside his psyche, begging him to wrap his arms around her, push her against the glass, and shut them both up.

He had to end this immediately. Concede, back down, and in so doing make amends for the implication he'd just let loose between them. Kissing her was definitely not on the table as an option, no matter how tempting it was; he needed to end this argument quickly and keep his dignity and limbs as intact as he could manage.

"Hey, look, I'm sorry, O'Connell. That was over the line. Even for us. Well, me. I don't want to argue anymore, okay? To be honest, I don't even remember what we started arguing about in the first place. And we're starting to say things we might regret and...well, usually at this point, someone storms off. I'm not sure why that hasn't happened yet, but that might be the best idea, all things considered..."

Suddenly, her arms were looped around his shoulders, drawing him in closer. He hesitated a moment, unable to determine whether this was reality or his unhelpful (and apparently sex-starved) imagination at work again, before deciding it was indeed real but aberrant behavior. And that her left knee was now between his, her leg now dangerously positioned in such a way that she couldn't possibly mistake the effect this conversation was having on him.

Her lips were against his ear. "You think arguing fulfills some perverse sexual need of ours, huh?"

"O'Connell. I'm not a psychologist. I was just trying to make you mad, saying that."

"Well, I think you're right."

"You do?"

"I know it. You don't wanna keep arguing with me?" He had never heard this tone of voice from her. He'd do almost anything to hear it again, though.

"No. I really don't. O'Connell," he said pulling back slightly, trying to see her face better and put distance between them. "Look, why don't we..."

She tightened her hold on him and leaned back next to his ear. "So you're done fighting? Just like that?"

"Yeah. I am. I think the smart thing is for us to behave like adults for a few minutes, and for you to go your way, and me to go mine."

"I see. Well, then I learned something very important today, Fleischman. Something I don't think you want me to know about you. Something I didn't really expect. But probably should have."

She was positively purring into his ear at this point. He tried to push back and escape her closeness, but she had him wrapped too tightly against her. "Oh yeah, what's that?"

"That you finish way before I'm done." She unwound her arms from his shoulders and pulled back to smirk victoriously at him, before ducking under his arm to continue down Main Street towards the Brick.

He stood frozen, still leaning against the window, his palm pressed against it, no longer trapping Maggie in front of him. Instead of Maggie, he now saw Ed who was giving him a friendly wave and smile through the glass. Joel shook his head as he gave Ed an exasperated look. Ed shrugged and resumed sweeping.

"Fleischman!" Joel's head snapped left, where he saw Maggie halfway to the Brick already, hands on her hips again. "Buy me lunch, and I'll try to forget about your staying power. Or lack thereof. Hurry up, though. I don't have all day. I have to get out to the airstrip by 1:45."

Joel ran his hand through his hair after using it to push himself away from the glass. Through the window next to his fading palmprint, his eyes met Ruth Anne's. She was standing at her register, trying to force a disapproving look onto her face but having trouble concealing her bemused but knowing smile. He held her gaze for a second and couldn't help but to give her a chagrined smile back before turning to follow Maggie to the Brick.


End file.
